


Why Would I Do That On Purpose

by uku



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Lose Your Mind, M/M, Nightmares, Nogitsune Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uku/pseuds/uku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I wanted to see if 'the spark'  actually existed, because I can't remember if I felt that way when I had a panic attack and Lydia kissed me, so I thought why not try it out on my best friend, as the results would definitely be beneficial because I am definitely not attracted to you, or men, and such but then it -- that was -- that was something. But I am not--I'm in love with Lydia. I love Lydia. I'm just sexually attracted to you."</p><p>And expect nothing. Because this isn't what you thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

Maybe this is a little impulsive. Probably impulsive. Mostly impulsive. This probably isn't even a good idea.  

Scott opens the door.  

Well, too late now. "I just need to check something," Stiles mutters before crashing his lips against Scott's.  

It's nothing he ever expected. But why would he be expecting something. Why would he even be doing this. Why is he even doing this. He can't remember anymore. All he can feel is the thrill of Scott's mouth against his, his hands pressing firmly against his chest, fingers holding tightly onto Scott's shirt, as if that was enough to keep him in place. He closes his eyes, barely noticing the look of shock on the Scott's face as he loses all sense of reality, and _feels_.  

He feels it deep within his soul. No stop don't look at him like that he's not being dramatic.  

A spark.  

When he pulls away, relishing at the way their lips break apart soft and slow, Scott is gaping at him, wide-eyed and _what did you just do._

Ok, well -- that was -- huh.  

"Okay!" Stiles claps, "well I'll just head out now," He turns, but the rough yank of his coat has him reeling back. "Can't we just talk about this la--"  

"No!" Scott retorts, turning him around.  

"Ugh, why not?" Stiles sighs, disregarding the slight blush on Scott's cheeks.  

"You just kissed me."  

"So?"  

Scott looks incredulous.  

"Granted, it was a little random" Stiles concedes.  

Scott raises his eyebrows expectantly.  

"Oh? You want me to uh--" He gestures, chewing at his bottom lip.  

Scott nods, wide-eyed and irritated at his obvious stalling.  

"Okay! Well, uh, I--" He reiterates, "I kissed you."  

Scott agrees at the obvious, waiting impatiently for him to continue.  

"And, it happened, recently." He's not even bothering to hide it anymore.  

Scott rolls his eyes and growls, "Stiles, I swear to god if you don't tell me--"  

Stiles raises his hands in defense. "Okay okay okay okay I was just--" He sighs, "Curious." Well, that's partially true.  

"You were, curious?" Scott repeats, slow and precise, taking an intimidating step towards him.  

Stiles falters, taking one step back. "Uh, yeah..." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He glances behind himself, suddenly and unnecessarily anxious. He scratches the back of his head, avoiding the other's eyes. "I wanted to see if "the spark"  truly existed, because I can't remember if I felt that way when I had a panic attack and Lydia kissed me, so I thought why not try it out on my best friend, as the results would definitely be beneficial because I am definitely not attracted to you, or men, and such but then it -- that was -- that was something. But I am not--I'm in love with Lydia. I love Lydia. I'm just sexually attracted to you."  

"This is what boredom does to me," he reasons instead. Like hell is he going to tell Scott the truth.  

Damn it this was so impulsive.  

"So sheer boredom has you going around kissing your best friends." Scott deadpans in response.  

Stiles keeps on rolling. "Well, I only have one best friend but I mean--come on, man. I'm a seventeen year old teenage boy. My hormones are raging with sexual desire. My one true wish in this world is sex. All I want is sex, Scott--"  

Scott waves a hand, stopping his rant. Too-much-information screams on his face. Success.  

"What? Are you disgusted by my raw, unwarranted sexual desire? Because that is just the beginning I haven't even gotten to the fantasies yet--"  

"You're forgiven, just stop talking."  

"Awesome! So can I stay for dinner?"


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why does it have to be so awkward?" Stiles rather accusingly answers. "We kissed. A close-lipped, roughly three-second kiss. No tongue. No anything. This doesn't have to be awkward. It never needed to be awkward. I am straight. You are straight. I love Lydia. You have a possible budding romance with Kira."

"Scott, are you homophobic?" Stiles casually inquires, sliding into Scott's kitchen chair. 

The reaction is both hilarious and wet. Scott spews a trail of water across the room, coughing raucously on the impact. Stiles swaggers over and pats him on the chest. "So is that a yes?"

"Why are you even asking me that?" Scott heaves in - between coughs, a hand on his chest and confusion obviously apparent. It was a valid question, with questionably valid reasons.

"Why not?" he questions as he falls back into his chair. "It is my right as your best friend."

"To ask me uncomfortable questions."

"Well who else will?" Stiles retorts, arms gesticulating in the usual Stiles manner. He abruptly stops, comprehension dawning on his face, also in an equally Stiles manner. "Wait a second did you say uncomfortable?"

Scott blanches. Which is almost unobvious with his generally tan face but Stiles notices these things.

He can't help but jump to conclusions. "Oh my god you _are_ homophobic."

"No I'm not homophobic, I'm--I'm just--"

"You're what?" He perks up, leaning over the counter separating them in excitement.

Scott shakes his head, frustratingly confused, glancing over at Stiles. His cheeks are turning red. It's slightly adorable.

Stiles's mouth is wide open, almost anticipating the words falling from Scott's lips. Like he would know what Scott is saying. Like he didn't just ask Scott this apparently uncomfortable question that he seems to think he knows the answer to. But this shouldn't be uncomfortable. They're in a freaking _bromance_ , man.

"I mean all we did was fucking _kiss_!" Stiles shouts externally, meaning not internally, meaning _not in his mind_.

But that doesn't register until Scott speaks. "Um, Stiles."

Stiles turns around, arms frozen up in the air from previous frustration. "Wha--What."

Scott replies with a sheepish glance, because what else do you do in this plummeting atmosphere.

Stiles sighs, throwing his arms down and lying his cheek flat on the table. He mumbles incoherently, "Why does it have to be so awkward."

"What?"

 "Why does it have to be so awkward?" Stiles rather accusingly answers. "We kissed. A close-lipped, _roughly_ three-second kiss. No tongue. No anything. This doesn't have to be awkward. It never needed to be awkward. _I_ am straight. _You_ are straight. _I_ love Lydia. _You_ have a possible budding romance with Kira."

Was that believable? He rubs cheek, wondering if he's wiping off the red.

It rebounds and hits Scott. Hard. He didn't think it was possible, but his tan complexion isn't enough to hide the tomato-face he's currently sporting.

Stiles's face drops. "Why are you so red."

Scott avoids his eyes. "I'm not red."

"Yes you are. Stop being so red." He robotically replies.

"I am not red!" Scott retorts, raising his voice to further prove his point.

" _Yes_." Stiles shoves himself out of his chair and walks towards him, grabbing at his face and pinching his cheeks. "Yes you are," he says, voice lilting at the end.

He's come too close. In fact he could feel the warm of his breath mingling with Scott's.

Shit.

It's an unfortunate habit that they tend to lock eyes with each other, reflecting each other's mild shock as the silence breathes intimacy.

Should he make a move? Wait. What moves? He has no moves! Why would he make a move?

The front door saves him just in time, breaking them apart immediately.

"Hey..." Isaac drawls, feeling out the unusual atmosphere. He glances at the two of them. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing," they say in unison, looking at each other.

Stiles finishes, eyes flickering between Isaac and Scott. "Nothing happened. "

* * *

 

He thinks he made it worse. 

Stiles sees him during passing, catching Scott's eye. They smile at each other, one of those "I acknowledge your existence but I am unsure of how I should go about acknowledging your existence" looks.

Yeah he made it worse. He bangs his head against his locker.

"Okay. What's wrong." scares him more than it should have.

He shouts, turning around and practically gluing himself to the lockers, hands splayed out. "Oh, Lydia," he sighs in relief.

The strawberry-blond girl-of-his-dreams rolls her eyes. "You and Scott. What's the deal."

"I'm pretty sure he still needs to give me an IOU for that jumping accident if that's what you're talking about."

Lydia glares at him, crossing her arms. "Don't mess with me."

"Me? Mess with you? I am an angel sent from Jesus Christ himself. Which is pronounced 'heh-zeus', by the way."

"I have an IQ worth more than twice your brain, give or take a bit more. Tell me what's going on between you two."

"Okay, first of all, ow, that was insulting and highly inaccurate if your IQ exceeds more than the length of the sun from the earth. And two, your supernatural instincts do not apply to every day life. So no. Nothing is wrong."

Lydia studies him a bit more. "Well, whatever is 'not going on' with you two better be fixed. Without the two of you working together this town will be seeing its final days." She flips her hair and catwalks her way out.

Is it still sexy?

It will never not be sexy.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He blocks him out, focusing on the heavy in-and-out rhythm of his breath, the adrenaline fogging his mind until all he knows what to do is just keep running.
> 
> He has to keep running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU. You make me happy.

It's all just a thing that should just go away and Stiles really wishes he wasn't an impulsive, unthinking idiot.

He's started tallying the days of awkwardness, and it already feels like it's been a month. It might just be a week.

But this heavy mood lies potent. And he knows everyone else is noticing it. Especially the werewolves.

"What is it with you two," Stiles overhears Isaac asking Scott. He turns around, just enough to see them entering Derek's flat and Isaac nodding in his direction. "You guys seem...strange." He wonders if he thinks it's just awkward, not an underlying sexual tension they both feel but refuse to talk about.

They're refusing to talk about a lot of things these days.

"Stiles." Derek interrupts.

Stiles jumps out of his reverie. "Sorry."

"Alright, now that everyone's here, let's get to work," Derek begins.

* * *

The meeting ends and there's nothing to do after that. For once, in this wonderfully supernatural town we call Beacon Hills, the supernatural quality is void. Usually this would entail an hour after hour marathon of video games with Scott. But no. That's not really their thing right now.

Their relationship has matured into "it's awkward because I kissed you and we almost kissed again so let's not talk" relationship.

Stiles needs to fix this.

* * *

 

Scott's lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, bored and contemplative.

Isaac, sitting quietly on the floor, brings up the inevitable. "There is a heavy, extremely obvious sexual tension between you and Stiles that every time you even see each other that's all I can smell. What the hell happened between you guys."

Scott stares at the ceiling, still taking it all in, mouth open in quiet shock. Sexual tension. A _sexual_ tension. His insides are twisting, flashing back to the way Stiles's lips felt, slightly chapped but careful and sure, the way his eyes squeezed shut, the way his hands held tightly against his shirt.

Blushing is just a reflex to him now. "What are you talking about?" He lies. "There isn't - there isn't any--"

"Jesus, calm down Scott I was just joking," Isaac chuckles, amused at Scott's embarrassed reaction.

"Oh, right, yeah of course," he says, hoping it's a bit more composed. But everything that has to do with Stiles is making that impossible.

He needs to fix this.

* * *

 

Stiles gives himself a once over in the mirror, twiddling with his hair until it's just the right flare. "Alright," he says to himself, "all I need to do is just ask. Just ask."

* * *

Scott throws on his best shirt, fidgeting with the way the wrinkles seem permanent. He shrugs it off.

He has to do this.

* * *

 

When Stiles shows up at the door, he takes a second to breathe, running the lines through his mind.

He can do this.

* * *

 

Scott takes a deep breath, approving of his attire and runs down the stairs.

He opens the door.

* * *

 

"Oh, hi." Stiles says, hand up in mid-knock.

Scott replies with a quick "Hi" and pushes past him. He stops. "Hey, sorry but can we talk later? I'm late for a date with Kira."

Right. Of course. Stiles shrugs it off, "Yeah, yeah of course go before you're late." He waves him off and Scott smiles, thankful.

"I'll see you later, alright?"

Stiles nods, a fixed smile plastered on his face.

They never see each other.

* * *

 

Stiles doesn't understand the concept of having 'feelings' because 'feelings' make absolutely no sense. There's a part of him that feels a little--well, something but it's fine because all they did was kiss and with Scott dating things can go back to normal now.

He swings by around 11 o' clock at night, knocking obnoxiously on Scott's window, the only way he can. Scott looks over, turning over on his bed and opens the window. "Stiles?"

"Hey," he waves, scrambling soon after due to the sudden imbalance. He slams his hand back onto the window sill, tightening his hold.

"How did you get up here?"

"Not easily," Stiles replies, losing his grip. "Help," he squeaks, as his hands slip off. Scott catches him by his forearm. It burns, the touch sending shivers down his spine. He wonders and hopes desperately that Scott doesn't notice.

But the way he quickly releases his grip right as they touch says otherwise. His stomach flutters in sudden, truly terrifying fear of falling when Scott catches him again, pulling him by the shirt, avoiding his skin.

"Jesus, scare the crap out of me why don't you," Stiles says as he stumbles into Scott's room, tripping the other along the way.

These things they call clichés? Yeah. They're real.

Stiles ends up on top of Scott, gripping him by the shoulders, breathing his air. The proximity lets him admire the slight angle of his jaw, an endearing trait Stiles forgets to notice. He traces it with his fingers, trailing along the edge until he hits the curve. It's suddenly, unbearably hot and just as Stiles is trying to run away Scott raises himself up on his elbows, closing the gap with hesitant, soft lips.

And Stiles presses back, letting his hands smooth against Scott's neck. Scott kisses him again, open mouthed and breathy, entirely different from the first. His hands tangle into Stiles's shirt, pulling him flush against him and Stiles's stomach turns. He wants this, he actually wants this.

His fingers scrape against Scott's neck as the breathy brush of their lips becomes more and more heated.

Scott moans.

Their eyes break open, wide and _shit_ and _fuck_ and _didn't he just go on a date tonight_. Silence settles heavy between them, but neither move. But Stiles can't take the tension any longer, he pushes off of Scott and runs out the door. He hears it slam behind him, footsteps following after. He pushes harder. He just needs to get to his car. He just needs to outrun an alpha. Yeah, yeah he can do that.

"Stiles!" Scott shouts, "Stiles, wait!"

He blocks him out, focusing on the heavy in-and-out rhythm of his breath, the adrenaline fogging his mind until all he knows what to do is just keep running.

He has to keep running.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stiles, there's something else and you know it," Scott reasons, standing up as well. Look at him, with his true alpha qualities beginning to shine through. Always the hero. With his, "we need to face reality already" attitude.
> 
> Stiles slumps his shoulders, exhaling heavily. "Yeah," he turns, "Yeah there is. But why should we talk about this? Why should we talk about the fact that I am sexually attracted to you?"

Scott pounces on him, slamming him face-first into the grass. "Wait," he breathes out.

Stiles gesticulates obviously at himself: Scott's lying on top of him. " _Waiting."_

"Oh, sorry," he comprehends, pushing himself off of him. Though his werewolfy-ness has bettered him physically, it's another story when comes to his brains.

Stiles turns over and pushes himself up on his elbows. Scott sits across by the end of his feet.

He says nothing. He tackled him onto the grass and is finding himself devoid of words. Stiles, irritated, kicks him.

"Ow!" Scott rubs at the sore spot on his shin. He looks at him, asking him _why_.

"Say something already! I feel like I'm lying here waiting for my impending doom." He gestures at his defenseless self and tilts his head back, looking up at the stars.

"Yeah," Scott runs a hand through his hair, "right, sorry, it's just--"

"--really fucking awkward? Yeah," Stiles finishes. He pauses, thinking. "Which is kind of my fault. And I haven't apologized about that yet so sorry."

Scott raises his head, confused, his eyebrows bunching together in sickeningly adorable way. Why. "Sorry?"

Stiles shoves away the distraction and reflects Scott's reaction. "I...kissed you? You remember that, right? Or was that a dream? Is this all a figment of my cruel imagination?"

"Oh, right, yeah I do," Scott sighs, "This is real."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Stiles deadpans, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"No." Scott replies fervently, looking him straight in the eye. He refrains soon after, suddenly aware of the seriousness he fueled into that one, simple word. "No," he shrugs, "I mean, we just--" He falters, "just--"

"--kissed." Stiles finishes easily, nodding with his response. He hates the relief that seeps through him. "And?"

"And, um," he pauses, unsure of what he even wanted to say. "I don't know. It was just something that probably shouldn't have happened. Twice."

"Well, you kissed me. I kissed you. I think we're even. So," Stiles stands up, brushing himself off. "Let's just move on with our lives and forget it even happened. You know, the mature thing to do." It's just a few feet. A few feet away and he's out of here.

"Stiles, there's something else and you know it," Scott reasons, standing up as well. Look at him, with his true alpha qualities beginning to shine through. Always the hero. With his, "we need to face reality already" attitude.

Stiles slumps his shoulders, exhaling heavily. "Yeah," he turns, "Yeah there is. But why should we talk about this? Why should we talk about the fact that I am sexually attracted to you?"

He wakes up.

* * *

His eyes flash open, gasping as he slowly takes in his surroundings.

The place is empty, just endless white walls.

"Well, that was unexpected."

Stiles turns, following the voice. His face falls, eyes filled with fear.

"And all this time I thought it was Lydia, but _no_ its the _best friend_. It couldn't be any more obvious," it drawls.

"I thought you were gone, I thought we trapped you," Stiles accuses calmly, the clenching of his fists the only indication of his anger.

"Oh, oh _yes_ you did," the nogitsune mutters, pacing idly, feet shuffling across the floor. It appears before him, smirking.

"This is all you."

* * *

 

First he feels the shaking. Then he hears it, someone shouting his name on an endless repeat. He inhales deeply, air rushing into his lungs as if he were drowning. He opens his eyes.

"Stiles? Stiles are you okay?" His vision slowly blurs out of focus, a lopsided jaw slowly coming into view. They're in the animal clinic. He pulls Scott to him, arms latching onto him tightly. "Scott," Stiles breathes. " _Scott_ , " he whimpers, choking back the tears.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm here," he whispers, holding him tightly.

Stiles pulls back, terrified.

_"Where am I?"_

* * *

 

Stiles's eyes flicker back-and-forth, paranoid by every sound he hears. He drums his fingers incessantly against the chair, trying desperately hard to breathe. _What is happening to him_.

Is this even real?

He looks over at Scott and Deaton, watching them whisper to each other quietly. _It's not real. This isn't real. You know it isn't._

"Deaton," Scott says, "What's happening to him?"

"It seems like Stiles's subconscious has created the nogitsune," he says, glancing over at him. "It took control of his mind, ripping him apart in the most defining way possible. For it _not_ to have an effect on him would have been suspicious."

Scott nods, but the gnawing feeling in his gut doesn't disappear. "Are you sure it's just that?"

"You captured the nogitsune with the box made of nemeton wood, didn't you?"

Scott nods fervently.

"Then, it should be fine, but, honestly, I don't know." Deaton says, frowning.

They both look over at him, watching the way he points to his fingers, muttering under his breath.

Counting.

* * *

 

Stiles closes his eyes, sitting at the edge of his bed, running his hands through his hair. The moonlight streams through his window, making his skin look even paler than before. Scott drove him home, as he sat there silently, looking out the window. _Something feels wrong. Something is wrong. This isn't real. This isn't real._

"Stiles," Scott breaks through the silence. "We're going to fix this, okay?"

He doesn't say anything.

_You aren't real._

He looks down at his hands, nodding as he counts each digit.

_Six._

* * *

 

"You're sexually attracted to me.  _Sexually attracted_ to me?" Scott repeats, trying to make sense of it all.

"Well, aren't you?" He retorts. He has to be.

"I mean, um, I don't know I--" he doesn't finish. He never finishes.

"You want to touch him, you want to feel him, you want run your hands down his cock and hear him moan your name against your ear," it whispers.

 _Stop_ , Stiles screams, _stop._

He feels Scott run his hands down his side, tangling into his hair, breathing his name against his lips as he kisses him, slow and languid. The image shatters as he opens his eyes, seeing his _own_ lips press against him, his _own_  eyes staring mischievously back at him, smirking. His hand slips under and wraps around his cock, picking up rhythm. He growls in his ear, "You like this don't you? You want me to _finger_ you? To _suck you off_? Do you?"

He screams himself awake, and Scott's there, Scott's always there--and he holds him, brings him back. But he

doesn't know.

It's tearing him apart.

* * *

 

Scott holds him, rubbing circles on his back, ignoring the quiet tears running down Stiles's cheek. This was supposed to be over. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Stiles," he whispers softly, "it's okay, it's okay."

Stiles shakes his head against Scott's neck, desperately muttering to himself, "This isn't real, this isn't real."

"Come on, Stiles, let's count, okay?" Scott says, taking Stiles's hands into his. He traces his index finger over each one, and counts. "One," Scott says, looking up at him for reassurance. Stiles nods.

"Two." Stiles nods.

"Three." He traces over his middle finger.

"Four." The ring finger.

"Five," he says, touching his pinky finger on his right hand.

"Okay?" Scott asks hesitantly. Stiles nods.

He starts again, taking the other hand. "Six." He touches his thumb.

"Seven." His index finger.

"Eight." The middle.

"Nine." The ring.

"Ten," Stiles finishes, Scott tracing his finger over his pinky. Scott looks up at him, watching the guarded relief seep through his features. He holds Stiles's hand.

"You're okay," Scott nods.

"I'm okay," he says.

_I'm okay._

* * *

 

"We need to take him to Deaton's sister," Lydia says matter-of-factly as. "She's the only person we can trust."

Scott nods as they head towards their next class, mind elsewhere.

"Scott," Lydia stops him by the arm, jolting him back to his senses. "I know you're worried. I know that with Allison gone, it only makes this worse. But right now, Scott." She places a hand on his cheek. "The last thing he needs right now is for us to be out of our minds."

"Yeah, I know," Scott says, closing his eyes. He breathes deeply. "Come on, let's get to class."

* * *

 

It only takes a second to close his eyes, for the nightmares to start, for him to question. It's an endless cycle and all he wants to do is go back, he just needs to go back. He wants to dream.

"Stiles," his father says, standing by the doorway, "I'll be heading out now, alright? Scott's coming by soon."

Stiles smiles, a thin line forming across his lips.. His eyes scream death, dark circles contrasting against his sickly pale skin.

"Alright," he nods, "See you tonight."

He listens for the door to shut.

The silence feels claustrophobic.

* * *

 

Scott stops by fifteen minutes after his dad leaves; relief washing through Stiles as he sees him standing at his bedroom door. "How are you?"

Stiles shrugs, looking away. Scott sits himself beside him, hearing the springs creak at the added weight.

"Come on," he puts a hand on his shoulder, "Let's go out."

* * *

 

He takes him down to see a movie, but it ends with Stiles on the verge of a panic attack, terrified of seeing something in the dark. Granted, he should have known, but this is what they used to do, sneak in through the exit, slip past security and high-five each other as they confidently make their way into the movie theater.

"Sorry," Scott apologizes as he starts the car. "I should have known."

Stiles waves it off, "You being here for me is enough," he says, trying to smile. "Are you staying over?"

Scott shakes his head, a surge of guilt hitting him in the chest at Stiles quiet, disappointed reaction. "I'm still trying to figure things out about all of this."

"Have you found her yet?" Stiles asks, referring to Deaton's sister.

Scott shakes his head, "It's like she disappeared off the face of the earth."

Stiles laughs, "Well when you do, you know where to find me."

Scott smiles, brown eyes warm and comforting, memories of soft lips and breathy moans igniting a burn deep within. It all felt so real.

But he doesn't love his best friend, he reassures himself. It's the only logical conclusion that makes sense of this

reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly certain I've ruined all of your lives. You're welcome.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She kind of just shows up. It isn't that surprising.
> 
> Scott gets the call in the middle of the night, something about how she can't stay long and what not but honestly what the fuck does she have that's more important to do than fix a supernaturally-compromised seventeen-year-old boy.
> 
> Stiles is a very important person.
> 
> "Hey."
> 
> "I'm awake," Stiles states matter-of-factly. This is routine for him.
> 
> "You heard then? She's here."
> 
> "Yeah," Stiles says, masking his nervousness with indifference. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing.

It's easy to forget.

Allison's dead.

Allison is dead.

What with Stiles practically losing his mind, he's distracted enough. Scott stares, transfixed at the traffic light before him, a bright red flashing against his eyes. This is _normal_. Their life is filled with werewolves banshees fucking _Japanese spirits_ and _it's all so fucking normal_. People are _dying_ , and it's _normal,_ it's _expected_. They all knew what they were getting into.

Allison knew.

But of course--that doesn't matter to her, when does it ever? (He can't say was, this can't be a was--not yet). She's Allison, his first everything, the girl with a determination no one could sway. She did what she wanted, she didn't listen. She is an amazing, unique, loving, caring, selfless person--

And he still loves her.

He will always love her. He has to, she was his first. It's only natural.

"Scott," Stiles breaks, voice croaky from disuse.

He shakes it off, left-right-left-right until it all comes crashing down again. He looks over at his best friend, eyes sunken in, skin sickly pale, lips terribly chapped. He still looks like he's dying. "Yeah?" Scott replies, desperately trying to sound normal.

"The light's green," he gestures casually.

Scott turns, reflexively pressing his foot against the gas, already fifteen miles over the speed limit. He quickly slows down, mumbling a "sorry" to Stiles as he calms down.

Stiles smiles bitterly, "It's not your fault."

He blames himself. Of course he blames himself.

The rest of the drive is quiet.

* * *

It pisses him off.

He shuts the engine off as he parks in his driveway, the quiet hum replaced with silence.

"It's isn't yours either," Scott finally says. "And I know you don't believe it but you didn't do anything wrong. So stop making it harder on yourself by thinking it's all your fault."

Stiles appears impervious, clenching and unclenching his hands to stop them from shaking.

"Stiles."

"I heard you," he says, silent. "I'll see you later." He moves to get out.

"You're at my place," Scott replies, "You're spending the night, remember?"

Stiles sighs, closing his eyes. "Right, yeah. Of course." He walks away, key in hand as he makes his way to the front door.

* * *

His patience is running thin far too quickly. He should be more sympathetic, he thinks, but Stiles is _alive_ and yet he has the audacity to act like his life is still falling apart. Which it might be, but the nogitsune has to be gone, Scott saw it die right before his eyes. But then, how is it any better that it's all on Stiles now to bring himself back together?

Either way, his attitude needs to change and Scott is too impatient to wait. A part of him feels guilty, but he's just so sick of it all.

Stiles is already nestled under the covers of his bed, curled up in a ball. His eyes are squeezed shut, breathing shaky, and suddenly all thoughts of anger and destruction disappear.

This isn't going to be an easy fix.

* * *

"You know what? Let's just mutually agree to never bring this up ever again and go on with our borderline homosexual bromance, yeah?"

Scott mulls it over for a second, then nods enthusiastically. "Yeah."

"Alright," Stiles claps, ignoring the pang of disappointment, "Starting," he looks down at his invisible watch, now, everything is not something and that something is nothing."

"What?"

"We never kissed each other," Stiles repeats in universally understandable English, slightly annoyed. He hates repeating himself. Yet that happens on a daily basis anyway.

"Oh," Scott deadpans stupidly.

"Yeah," Stiles mocks, "so my house. The newest final fantasy. Or, if we're feeling nostalgic, Jak and Daxter,"

Scott ponders it for a second, head cocked to the side. "Jak and Daxter."

"Great minds think alike," Stiles smiles. "Come on, let's go buddy."

 _Someone's conflicted,_ the nogitsune drawls, disrupting his dream with a cocky smirk. _You want him, but you don't want to risk ruining your friendship oh isn't that just adorable._

Stiles lies flat on the linoleum, arms and legs spread eagled, unable to move. "Stop," he cries, "please."

 _Oh how many times have we been through this, Stiles? I'm not doing anything._  You _created me,_  You _want me here,_ he strides toward him, placing a foot on his chest. _"You want this_ , he presses down, reveling in the crunch. Stiles screams, tears streaming down his face. _Like music to my ears,_ it hums.

* * *

 

"Stiles, you're fine," Scott soothes, pulling back a panicking Stiles, his screams pulling painfully at his heart. He wraps his arms around him, rubbing soothing circles in his back. He's getting too used to this.

They need to find her, soon.

* * *

She kind of just shows up. It isn't that surprising.

Scott gets the call in the middle of the night, something about how she can't stay long and what not but honestly what the fuck does she have that's more important to do than fix a supernaturally-compromised seventeen-year-old boy.

Stiles is a very important person.

"Hey."

"I'm awake," Stiles states matter-of-factly. This is routine for him.

"You heard then? She's here."

"Yeah," Stiles says, masking his nervousness with indifference. "Let's go."

* * *

"They've been in there for awhile now," Isaac says, glancing over at the clock. They started at two in the morning. It's five now.

"Yeah," Scott agrees, fiddling mindlessly with his fingers.

Kira places a hand over them, Scott looks up at her. She smiles sympathetically.

Scott reflects it, and looks down at the ground instead, focusing on absolutely nothing.

The door opens, finally.

Stiles walks out, smiling begrudgingly at them all as he sits down beside Lydia. She places a hand on his arm, consoling. Stiles smiles at her. It doesn't reach his eyes.

Morell walks out a few minutes later, talking quietly with Deaton before leaving the clinic.

The look on Deaton's face isn't promising.

"What is it?" Scott asks him.

"It's nothing," Stiles says. "It's all in my head. There's nothing I can take. There's nothing you can do about it. It's all on me. I have to bring myself back."

The silence thickens.

"According to her, I'm perfectly fine. I've just lost my fucking mind."

* * *

He can't sleep. He's too fucking pissed to sleep.

He stares blankly at the ceiling, eyes half open. He isn't surprised, but a part of him hoped. Maybe it really was still here, torturing him. That everything he was feeling wasn't his fault, but the nogitsune's. And honestly, that should be a good thing. He should be happy. But that means these past weeks, months, however long this has been (and it has been a very long time, he knows) he's been too weak to put himself back together again. He can't do it.

He sits up, growling angrily at himself, running frustrated hands through his hair. He slams the door to his bedroom, stomping down the stairs and out into the icy morning air.

"Stiles, you alright?" Right, Scott's here. Looking at him hesitantly, like he always, always has been. Tiptoeing around the truth, being _so careful_ with him.

"I'm fucking fantastic, thank you," Stiles spits, back facing the other. He wants to scream.

"What is it?" He sounds hopelessly confused now. He wasn't expecting anger, of all things.

"I'm a mess, Scott. And I have been for months now. But all this time," he sighs, trying to hold back angry tears, "I've been doing it to myself. And you know what? I knew it too. I dreamt about it every, single, _fucking_ night and I thought it's still here, it's this fucking batshit crazy nogitsune making me lose my mind, telling me I'm doing this to myself just to psych me out but no--it was me." He sits down, rubbing a hand over his face. "It was me."

Scott sits next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

For once, the silence is comforting.

* * *

"I want to go back to school Monday," Stiles states. His voice is firm, abrupt.

Sheriff Stilinski, a little thrown off, pizza halfway to his mouth, asks, "...Are you sure Stiles?"

No. "Yes."

"Well alright."

* * *

The weekend passes by quickly enough. Sure, he didn't sleep through most of it, but less is better at this point.

"Stilinski, you're back," Finstock says, much to his, as well as everyone else's, surprise.

Stiles nods, "Yep." He moves to find his seat. It's taken.

Kira smiles up apologetically at him. Scott's still gaping at him.

He takes the seat in the back, ignoring the lingering eyes.

* * *

"You didn't tell me you were coming back today" is the first thing Scott says to him. The worry in his eyes has his stomach in somersaults.

Stiles shrugs, "Didn't think I needed to."

* * *

He knows he's being an ass to everyone, but frankly he doesn't give a shit. He's still angry. And more than anything, he's trying to ignore it.

There are moments, there _have been_ moments today, actually, where he's slipping in and out of consciousness.

He brings himself back just in time before anyone notices.

"Are you coming to practice today?" Scott asks, as Stiles fishes through his locker for his textbook.

Practice, he almost forgot. Stiles nods.

* * *

By the time the day is over, he's exhausted. Why did he want to go back again?

"I'll see you tomorrow," Stiles mutters to Scott as he stuffs his backpack in his car.

"Stiles, fucking stop it already."

Well that was unexpected. "Excuse me?" Stiles turns, mildly surprised. "What did I do?"

"What did you do?" Scott repeats, voice venomous. "You're not doing anything, that's the fucking problem."

Anger starts rushing through his veins. He's riling him up. "I'm fucking losing my mind what the fuck do you want from me?"

His eyes flash yellow, his jaw locked, and _you want to feel his hands twist in your hair, his voice husky against your ear, and_ you're _doing this to him,_ you _are_ \--"I want you to stop moping, stop looking at us like you're just waiting. Waiting for, for--"

"Okay. I know," he interrupts. "I'm trying. I'm trying so hard not show the fact that I've been trying to stop myself from having another panic attack today. So jesus fuck, Scott, give me a break."

"I'm sorry," Scott sighs apologetically, "I'm just frustrated,. You've been like this for months now. I'm starting to lose my patience."

"Starting to? Wow."

"What?"

"If you were like this for a day I don't think I could handle it. "

Scott smiles, "I'm just more sensitive than you are."

"Sensitive? Is that what you call it? I would have assumed stupid."

"In what way?"

"A you-should-have-said-something-sooner-instead-of-being-passive-aggressive way."

"Well sorry for trying to be an understanding friend."

"Being an understanding friend is by trying to help me be myself again." And suddenly, the tension is back.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Scott ends, heading towards his bike.

Stiles watches him drive away.

* * *

_Real_ ,

or not real.

 _Real_ ,

or not real.

It's giving him a headache.

Stiles sighs, terrified to close his eyes, terrified to keep them open, as he stares blankly at his bedroom ceiling.

He hadn't left the house for - has it really been months? Time just keeps moving and he isn't bothering to keep up.

This uncertainty is starting to feel normal.

 


End file.
